Freaky Friday
by virtualailee
Summary: A teleportation experiment went wrong, and Tony finds himself inhabiting Natasha Romanoff's body. And she, his. Fixing it requires several grams of vibranium, which T'Challa - that ass - doesn't want to lend. Plan B: how to steal Steve's shield without him knowing...
1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark stands by one principle: nothing is impossible. _Nothing._ Good questions lead to good answers, he just has to be clever about asking the right ones. And being clever is… he's not one to brag, but clever doesn't even begin to describe _this._ This, ladies and gentlemen, is the world's first teleportation machine!

In your face, Reed.

"Knock, knock."

Tony's screwdriver slips from his motor-oiled fingers – it rolls along the floor until a foot darts out of nowhere to step on it.

"Oh boy," he wipes his hands on the denim covering his butt. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit. Leave the door open, Nat, so I'll have witness if you slit my throat or something."

"Steve asks if you want to join him for dinner tonight. Says he has something to talk about."

"About what?"

"I don't know. About SHIELD and the Avengers? What do you normally talk about?"

"Huh?" He takes the screwdriver Natasha is offering, flinching _just_ a wee bit as she pushes the handle lightly into his palm. "Dinner with the team, or just me alone?"

"Well, I'm not invited."

"… Right. Weird though." He points the screwdriver at her for emphasis. "I don't like to be singled out. It doesn't make me feel special. It makes me anxious. Maybe it's about leaving coffee grounds in the disposal. Can I pass?"

"You can tell him so yourself."

"I'm busy pushing the boundaries of science and technology, as per usual… so I must spend every millisecond of my life here, in this lab… with this _thing_ that still won't cooperate…"

"What are you working on?"

Nat, among the bunch, has the most patience. Others would've moon danced out of the workshop and left him to his own devise. _Or_ this is the Widow's tactic. Annoy him enough until he gives in to her every whim.

"This is a teleport machine. It's _supposed_ to be, at least."

"How does it work?"

"Well," he wipes sweat off his brow, leaving smudges of oil on his forehead. "In theory, this chamber here," he points at the human-sized tank Natasha is leaning against, "analyses the structure of whatever item you intend to teleport. It does deep-scanning down to the quarks and electrons – I know, right? It's amazing, and that's not all. Once the formula is confirmed, the chamber _there,_ " he points at a second tank on the other side of the room, "reassembles nascent molecules into the original item. Boom."

"So… a 3D-printing fax machine?"

Boy, must she always suck the joy out of everything?

"It's a technology barely out of its diapers, but if I could make it work on larger, more complex stuff, Stark Industries would revolutionise the transportation and logistics industry!"

"Be careful what you wish for. Don't want to be slapped with antitrust violations now, do we?"

"Just because I'm thinking of expanding our horizon a bit, diversifying the portfolio so to speak –"

"A machine like this must've used tonnes of energy, energy that only your reactors can supply. I'm just stating the facts, Stark."

"You must be a lot of fun at parties, Romanoff."

"Speaking of which, maybe you'll want to get ready for your date with Rogers. If you turn him down, he'll sulk all day, and _I'm_ not in the mood to spar with a sulky Captain America."

Tony immediately brightens up. "Aha, you _are_ seeing Steve after this, huh? Tell him I'm sorry, I'll make it up to him later –"

"No deal." She waves nonchalantly and heads for the exit.

"Nat, come on –"

In his urge to chase after her, he trips over a wrench and falls face-first into the control panel linked to the prototype teleport machine. Lights and engines whir to life, and the very ground they are standing on begin to _hum_.

"… Get out of here, Nat." Tony launches himself to the panel, and hits buttons in frenzy. "Stop stopping! Go! Seal the damn door!"

"What's going on –"

"It's blowing up –"

Alarms blare in all direction, and steam shoots out from the pipework. With vision and air pressure severely compromised, Tony does the first thing that comes to mind – he lunges after Natasha, folds her into his chest and rolls them away to the farthest corner.

Not far enough. Not nearly.

After God knows how long –

"Nat?"

It's heavy. Nat's _heavy_ , all muscly and… so much mass. He can't see, can't move. He's pinned to the ground under… everything. Rubble mostly, and a body –

"Nat? Nat, please." He tries to shake her awake, but finds his arms locked within Nat's embrace. Lady has a _really_ firm hold on him. Very scary. He kicks around, hoping to dislodge some of the concrete piled over them, and thankfully, Jesus Christ, that works. The lighting's all out. The alarm has subsided. At least the HVAC control system is still running. He pushes himself up on one elbow, and pries himself off Nat. He flexing his toes, his knees, his neck… he's good. He's all good. Miraculously, he hasn't broken a single bone.

"Nat, wake up – holy fu –"

It's _his own face_ he's staring at. _His body_ on the floor, dust covered and still unconscious, and he –

"What the heck –" He runs his hands over his front, oh God, this is certainly _not_ his chest –

He screams, short and sharp, and he sounds just like _Natasha._


	2. Chapter 2

That shrill, banshee shriek of his jolts Natasha – and frankly, himself – out of their stupor, and she slowly comes to, brows pinching with discomfort. This is _really_ disconcerting, watching his own mouth twist as she groans, and his carefully-groomed moustache collecting cement flakes. He has just enough foresight to scoot away from Natasha, because when her eyes snap open and focus on _his face_ –

Now he knows how he sound if he ever needs to scream at the top of his lungs. Not much different from Natasha's –

"Holy fu –"

"Yeah, I know," Tony nods, and holds both hands up placatingly. "What I said, too."

"You're – you're _me!_ How are you _me_ and I –" He smirks drily when she reaches a shaky hand down between her thighs and gropes, and screams again, "Stark, what did you _do_?"

"I'll be honest, I have no idea –"

" _Bullshit_ –"

"Hey, you think this isn't hard on me? One minute my lab is collapsing on me, and by the next I'm sporting a rack!"

"Fix this!"

"Fix _what?_ I need – need time to _adjust_ , to _recalibrate_ –"

"We mustn't let anyone know about this."

"Agreed," he nods furiously. Then, "… Why not? We can talk to Bruce about this. Or Reed. We need all the eyes and brains we have –"

"Two days, huh? Two days." She looks torn between livid and manic, and Tony decides that mixture of expression doesn't complement the general rugged handsomeness of his features. "We work on fixing this machine, see if we can go back to our bodies."

"You know, this isn't such a big deal. An experimental mishap," and dammit, never has he stared down such a fiery glare, not even one from Pepper, "which is indeed, a big deal. Yes, it is. I'll uh," his _armpits_ are a mixture of sweat and sand, "I need a shower."

At once, something sharp and metallic twirls between Natasha's fingers. She's always moving like a blur, too quick to follow. Awestruck turns to horrified when she deftly angles the pointy end of his _screwdriver_ to her crotch. "Nice try, Stark. You do anything weird to my body…"

Jesus Christ.

That's how he decides to forgo shower altogether, because staying alive with his dick intact is more important than smelling bad, and eff it, it's Natasha's body anyway, why does he care. He creeps under and over heaps of cables, working hard to diagnose the cause of the explosion while she keeps to her corner, tasking herself with restoring power supply to the lab. And after one full hour of passive-aggressively ignoring each other, they regroup to discuss progress.

"The bundle of wires down here is shot through and through." Tony carefully disentangles himself from the mess. "It's not a malfunction or a design mistake. It's a hardware flaw. I underestimated my calculations – which never happened –"

"Clearly, you just did."

"Anyway, we need a replacement conductor. Something with out-of-this-world dampening capacities, able to disperse electric, vibration and heat load dispensed from a device that consumes enough energy to feed twenty percent of West Coast."

Ding ding!

 _Vibranium_ is also exceedingly rare, but there still are two sources of that magical metal, both of which are certified pain in Tony and Natasha's collective asses. As she kindly puts it, "Either way, you're on T'Challa's speed dial, and Steve invited _you_ to dinner, not me. So, you ask it."

"Which I'm more than happy to do," he crosses his arms across his chest, and is dismayed that he now has to lower his forearms to accommodate his newly gained body parts. "But, I'm not Tony Stark anymore, am I? So, _you_ be a dear and FaceTime T'Challa for both our sakes."

That soon proves to be a mistake.

"For old time sake, T'Challa. Just loan me fifty grams of vibranium. Fifty grams, thirty-six hours. Name your price."

"I will not repeat myself, Stark. Money will not tempt me."

"For God's sake," Natasha hisses into the phone, and Tony shakes his head furiously. He makes a cross with his index fingers, his mouth a perfect "O". "I mean," she falters. "Pretty please?"

And Tony swipes his face with his hand.

"I can lend you vibranium in exchange for your expertise on the repulsor tech. You realise how that will revolutionise our research into sustainable energy in Wakanda."

"… Yeah, why not? What d'you want to know?" At that exact moment, when she looks over her shoulders at Tony with wide, expectant green eyes, he knows the game's already over. Checkmate.

"Have you been drinking again, Stark?"

"… No?"

"You're not behaving like yourself. Get some rest."

And that's it. The _click!_ on the other end of the line resounds in the workshop that it echoes to their very marrows.

"Boy, you suck," Tony slides to the ground, too tired to stay on his feet any longer. By the way, he just kicked off Natasha's pumps because they're murdering his ankles. And while he's at it, so is Natasha-playing-Tony, because they're two vastly different beings! "You don't _talk_ to the King of Wakanda like that!"

"He's your friend, isn't he?"

"Yes, but that's not the point – oh yeah, that's a trick question, Nat."

"What is?"

"The repulsor tech!" He runs his fingers through his hair and _why is his hair never-ending?_ "You don't share notes with people about it evenif they waterboard you with a car battery strapped to your chest, OK? You don't. _Christ_."

At least she has the decency to look somewhat ashamed of herself. She squats to his eye level, lips pressed to a thin line. Now _he_ feels guilty for putting that look on her – on _his_ own darn face.

Slowly, she says, "The other option might be better than T'Challa."

"Yeah. I was hoping we won't have to come to that."

Outside of Wakanda, there's only one place anyone can get their hands on some vibranium. But first, they'll have to pry it off the cold, dead hands of Steve Rogers. See if they could.


	3. Chapter 3

Because Steve resides in this lovely Tower as well, they can implement their brilliant plan almost immediately. Problem is, unlike T'Challa, Steve knows them down to the white blood cell in their body, so if Tony were to even sneeze funny?

At least they're not going it alone.

"Simple," Natasha draws a circle in the layer of dust coating the floor. "One of us will have to distract Steve long enough so the other can take his shield and bring it here to fix the machine. Good?"

"Perfect. Tag. You're it! Go distract Steve. I'll stay."

"Of, you wussy son of a –"

"What am I supposed to do, huh?" Tony wrings his hands in a show of exaggerated helplessness. "I can think of a thousand ways to distract him, sure. But _you're_ wearing my body, so _you're_ best positioned to do just that!"

"I can distract him just fine, and _you're_ wearing my body."

"Yeah? What do you guys do on a Friday afternoon, huh? Sitting around eating cakes, watching soap operas?" Tony does _not_ like the way her eyes balloon up with realisation. He has enough oh-crap! moments to last a week, so thank you very much.

Natasha grimaces. "I'm supposed to meet him in the gym half an hour ago."

No, no, no, freaking hell no –

"Tony, you have to go on my behalf."

"No! _I'll seriously die!_ "

"He won't… uh, he pulls back his punches when sparring with us mere mortals."

"Yeah, but _you're_ hardly human!"

"Hey, no need to get nasty –"

"I can't! I seriously can't! You know I rarely train with the Avengers outside of the suit. You'll have to scrape what's left of me off the mat after the hour is over, I shit you not."

And that's why she's called the Widow. She doesn't give two hoots about the possibility of him dying, and is more concerned about choosing the proper gym attire to go meet Steve in.Tony ends up one hour late to the session because he wanted to put on something that covers his chest and midriff and thighs but she vetoed everything, and insisted he put on something like an armoured bikini, because that's how she usually dresses up to the gym.

"You're _fighting_ against enhanced individuals, Nat! This," he gestures at his bra, "is a death wish!"

By the time he shows up, Steve's face is already slick with sweat from whaling on a sandbag. He doesn't slow down even as Tony pads awkwardly to the centre of the mat.

"You're late," Steve eventually says, eyes still glued to his target. "Is everything OK?"

"Yeah." Holy crap, he sounds like he's on helium. Calm the hell _down._ "I mean," he clears his throat, "Everything's fine. Sorry."

Then, Steve leaves his sandbag with the sand slowly trickling out from the seams, and joins Tony. For every silent step he takes, Tony's heart beats a little bit more, until he must've looked something weird because then Steve stoops over him to his eye level, and watches him with curious, blue eyes. Their noses almost touch, for God's sake, and Tony – in his panic – sticks his sweaty palm flat on Steve's face, and promptly pushes him away.

"Christ, Rogers. Personal space, please!"

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just… you sure you're OK? You look…"

"Absolutely golden."

"Frantic?"

"Excited."

"Well, you've been going all out lately. Sometimes I wonder if you're treating these sessions as therapies. Not that I mind," Steve begins to unwrap bandages from his knuckles. "If you need to let some air off your chest, I'm all ears."

"Just so you'll give me good performance appraisal, Cap. I need that end of year bonus."

"'Course you do. If Tony would do the same, give it his all –"

Why, that's just petty. "Maybe he doesn't give it his all because he likes to keep his gym, and Tower intact. Or maybe because he doesn't want to actually murder you guys –"

"Rising to his defense now, huh? That's actually nice of you. I was thinking if we should go hiking somewhere, do some team bonding activities, you know? Get the camaraderie going." He smiles again, and eases into a defensive posture, both arms raised to his chest. "OK. I promise I won't pull my punches this time."

And Tony thinks he just pees a little. Is he allowed to go to the bathroom or use the shower after this, or is he going to have to blindfold himself and have Natasha attend to him? Does that mean he better get that machine fixed before his bladder explodes? Yes, these are the things going through his mind as Captain America make mincemeat out of him, slamming him over and over again to the ground, holding him down in a chokehold until he screams "Uncle!"

"Jesus _Christ,_ Steve!" Tony coughs into the crook of his arm after the nth time of such demonstration. "Ease up, soldier! Trust me, I'm in no hurry to reincarnate, so _whoa_ –"

It's chauvinistic of him to think that Steve would not hit him as hard because it's a lady's body, but _man._ Show the lady some mercy, dammit! He's bruised in places he doesn't even know exist, and there's a persistent, blunt ache in the small of his back where he keeps impacting in his falls. This never happens when he's flying the suit, all right? He'll be hovering up there picking them off one by one with blasts of air pressure, and occasionally, swerving out of the way of Steve's shield or Clint's arrows. Even then, it's mostly JARVIS' doing. He's an engineer, not a comely assassin!

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_! Let go!" He's down. He's down! And pinned to the mat, the worst thing that could happen when facing opponents a cut above his weight class. Tony scrabbles at Steve's exposed chest and neck with painted fingernails, desperate to get loose and Steve quickly arrests those hands with his, pinning them uselessly above Tony's head. He bulks his hips, needing to throw Steve off his balance and maybe kick him good in the tailbone, that'll serve him good –

"You're done, Nat. Stop."

Then, Steve easily quells the rest of his struggles by locking his thighs with knees.

"OK!" Tony yelps quickly, doesn't care that he sounds like he's inhaling helium again. "OK! I surrender! Uncle! White flag! Get off me, get off… Steve?"

Steve seems to have lost his mind, just staring at him with a blank expression, not moving, not _speaking_ , and that creeps Tony out a great deal. _Especially_ when he can feel Steve's panting ghosting his hairline –

He realises he's been making terrible decisions lately, but this can't get any worse, can it? So, he raises himself up the best he can, and claims Steve by his lips. He holds it for three seconds, and then Steve stops _breathing_ – and then Steve's _leaning in_ to deepen it –

OK, no homo, bro.

Tony pulls back immediately, gasping for air as Steve recovers. He looks conflicted, _guilty_ , but it's exactly what Tony's looking for. So, when Steve starts to get up and _apologise,_ Tony decides to go for his Hail Mary. He retracts his knee, and launches it right into Steve's groin.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, that was quick," Natasha comments without so much as a glance at the entrance. Tony traipses in, and slams the door shut. It's all manual labour from here on out obviously. None of the motion sensors are working. He limps over to her, who's commandeered the plushest stool she can find that hasn't yet been obliterated in the explosion. "You're still alive, at least."

"Yeah, about that." What she doesn't know won't hurt her. "Totally kicked Rogers' ass. Wish you were there." She tosses him a piece of cloth that's meant for polishing engines. Hey, it's the thought that counts, right? "Anyway, did you grab the shield? I've a suspicion he won't be looking for it anytime soon," the edge of his lips twitches a bit.

"About _that_ …"

"Shield, Nat." He checks the table closest to him. "Where is it?"

This isn't fair. Standing in for Natasha isn't his idea in the first place, and after getting his ass handed to him upstairs, the least she can do is to present him the shield, wrapped up in a bow with confetti bursting from the ceiling. "This isn't our _deal,_ Nat. You're the superspy here, how difficult can snooping around Steve's room be? Hell, he seems the type to leave his door unlocked." And that's when he notices the peek of bluish glow from Natasha's collar. He swallows thickly, and is rudely reminded of the loss of his arc reactor. Being female is odd enough an experience to take his mind off the _absence_ of a dead weight in his sternum.

He sighs, and drags another stool to sit on across Natasha. "It's that thing, right?" He taps on his own chest, finding supple flesh instead of bones. "Sorry about that."

"Does it feel this way all the time? Or is this just a bad day?"

"Well." No need to be so dramatic. "I got used to it. Anyway, I feel like I need to tell you – be careful with that, will you? You don't want it detached from the housing _at all._ It needs some servicing from time to time, but I think I can reverse 'us' before then. OK?"

"… OK."

"OK. And uh, if it's fine with you, I wish to avoid Steve at all costs from this point onward."

And Natasha raises a dark brow. "Why?"

"Or, let me rephrase that. I may be a superbly gifted multitasker, but I think I want to focus on fixing this." He smacks the control machine with the flat side of his fist. "We haven't spent more than two hours in each other's bodies, and I'm tired of it already. Which is weird, because I've spent a good deal of my youth fantasising about being a woman –"

"Thank you!" She slaps her thighs loudly enough Tony himself winces. "OK, come here." She gets up and motions at her recently vacated seat. "Can't have you working on the machine looking like that."

"Looking like what?"

"Like roadkill. Sit."

As he sinks into the cushion, Natasha has somehow conjured a first aid kit from thin air and taken out alcohol swabs. The pungent sterility is so permeating Tony turns his head away the moment Natasha attacks his temple with it. She works diligently as she is silent, and Tony steals a couple of glances at her chest. _His_ , technically, but he's never seen it from a third person's point of view, duh. There's something enthralling about the glow, and he's hypnotised. It's beautiful, aesthetically, scientifically… it's his burden to bear. Not Natasha's.

"You OK?" She presses the wad of cotton into the bridge of his nose where Steve's magnificent knuckles made contact.

He flinches, "The reactor still troubling you?"

"It does make me wonder how deep the housing actually goes."

"… Deep enough to do its work. Lucky you, I've developed a trick to make it feel better. Wanna see?" He takes her by the hand and manoeuvres her into the opposite stool. "Pardon me." He holds out his hands, palms facing up and slowly, he reaches over to Natasha's collar. He takes out the first three buttons, and the arc reactor comes into full view. "Ready?" A touch of playfulness lights up his eyes. "Might be ticklish." He presses three petite fingers into a tender region about half an inch below the arc reactor. "Always does the trick."

"… Your fingernails are long, Stark."

"They're really yours."

"… You sure this is you? Or did the machine swap your personality with Dum-E or something? I mean, Dum-E's _nice._ "

Tony huffs, an easy smile lingering on his glossy lips. But he says nothing.

"I mean, you have a reputation."

"Yeah? The party days are over, Nat."

"What changes?"

"… You." The smile on Tony grows. "Pepper. Steve. The Avengers." Then he rolls his eyes and quickly waves a hand absent-mindedly. "You guys won't last a day without my charity, is what I mean to say."

And then, gravel crunches at the lab's entrance. They both start, heads immediately snapping to the intrusion presented in the form of – to their horror – _Steve Rogers._ His eyes are as wide as dinner plates as he watches Natasha, still dressed in her armoured bikini, sticking her hand against Tony's chest, whose dress shirt has parted halfway.

"I… just wanted to see if you're all right, Nat," Steve explains hesitantly. "I'll leave you guys to it."

Then, he's gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Very quickly after that, they're beginning to lose sunlight – which on one hand doesn't really matter because… fluorescent lights, but on the other, it means that it's also time to dine with the Captain, and Natasha uses her remainder of fifteen minutes to get acquainted to Tony's gaits.

"No, Nat, you're too _graceful._ Now, you're making me look campy. Longer stride, come on. _No!_ "

She likes taking the mickey.

Tony practically seizes her by the collar and drags her to his room to doll her up in his usual slacks and T-shirt, then a jacket over her shoulders. The design over her front is something equally stupid and geeky, and though faded with wear, is tainted with a faint musk of cologne that didn't quite go away during the wash. Ambergris?

"I need a shave," he mumbles to nobody as he fastens the belt buckle around Natasha's waist. "I mean, not me _me,_ but you… this is weird. And I'm usually much quicker on the uptake."

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to discuss with Steve? I mean, I'm going as you, so maybe I can bring it up on your behalf?"

"Hah, nice try, lady." He pats her on her shoulders. "It's in your DNA, isn't it? Always snooping. What Steve and I talk about are obviously, our own business."

"Not prying. Just want to make sure."

"Talk about whatever. Just stay away from my tech, and you're golden."

Seven o'clock sharp, and Natasha delivers herself to the drop zone. This is her first time walking around in Tony's meatsuit, and it's making her moustache itch. Tony will smother her in her sleep if she shaves his keratin. She scratches her face as she descends the grand stairway that will take her to the Tower's foyer, and almost skips two steps when Steve – always the early bird – looks up at her and waves.

"Hey," he says first, and immediately holds the side door open. "Where to this time?"

Stark, that bugger. Natasha walks out of the door, a grin frozen on her face as she wonders what Steve could possibly want to hear. They're here for dinner, right? So that excludes the museums and art galleries, which brings her to… she has no idea where Tony likes to bring Steve to on their bromance nights.

"You know what, Tony," Steve suddenly says, and points his thumb at some vague direction. "Sam says there's a good burger joint two blocks down. Want to try it?"

"… Sure."

They fall into an easy pace, walking side by side, shoulders almost touching. Natasha digs her hands into her pockets as the wind blows past, and belatedly realises that she has no idea how Tony's wallet works. She doesn't know how much cash he usually packs, if he ever bothers with that, she doesn't know his signature – not really – how many cards he has, which one she's allowed to use, or not –

This is _not_ going to go over well.

There's something else too, something strange about the whole… walk to this burger joint. People are looking at her. Like, _really looking at her_ , and she counts that for every four strangers she walks past, one will nod their head, or smile, or maybe mumble a quick, "Mr Stark."

What _is_ this place, seriously? Still Manhattan, right?

"Tony, you OK?"

"Yeah. Hungry."

So, they hurry their asses to said burger joint and order their food. Before she can worry her gorgeously sculpted, gelled-up head with cash or card, Steve offers to foot their bill, and she gratefully brings their tray to the most secluded corner she can find. Who cares if it's right beside the toilet.

Steve doesn't complain and takes his seat across Natasha.

The problem with playing Tony Stark is – Natasha sighs inwardly as she unwraps her burger – that man's brain is _silicon_. Not grey and white matter, nothing of those organic crap, it's all circuit boards and logic gates in there. His mind goes to places no others have traversed, and that's inconvenient.

"You sure are quiet today," Steve says it first. Natasha takes the hugest bite she can – and realises there's twice as much bun stuffed between her cheeks than she's ever managed to. "Something on your mind?"

She shakes her head viciously.

"OK." Steve is still not touching his burger. "I've got something on my mind. I uh, I'm not quite sure how to put this, and I figured I can count on you on issues like this."

Nuh uh, and she flicks at a dollop of stray mayo that got entangled on her facial hair. "Wha' abou'?"

"It's about Nat."

She stops – plain stops breathing, chewing, just stares at Steve with her bulging, hazel eyes. 

"Ah, I don't – I mean… Jesus, Tony. Are you _sure_ you're OK? Are you choking? You're turning beet red."

She hums against her burger and forces it down her throat. Wow, is that tightness in the throat her chicken patty or Adam's apple? She reaches over the table and grabs Steve's Coke – because Steve orders her coffee, which is very thoughtful of him, but coffee is Tony's thing, not hers – and gulps down a few mouthfuls –

"I think I might have feelings for Nat."

And she spews Coke and bits of half-chewed burger all over Steve Rogers.


	6. Chapter 6

"… That bad, huh?" Steve chuckles, sounding a tad hollow as he slowly wipes his soiled face with a paper napkin. "I know I can count on you for an honest opinion."

"… Steve, wait." She shoves her tray to one side and stares holes into his forehead. "Look at me dead in my eyes and say you have a crush on Natasha Romanoff."

"You think I don't know what this sound like? I'm trying to… I don't know if this will affect the team's dynamic, if this is professional conduct... I don't know if I should pursue this."

"You sure this is real? Or is this just your downstairs brain talking?"

Steve glares at her a bit, but he quickly looks away. "It's been a while. I thought it's something fleeting, so maybe I should wait it out and see if it sticks."

"And?"

"Well. That's why I'm buying you dinner, aren't I?"

For sure, it's not every day a confession plays out this way. They've been through a lot, she's stuck by him through the thick and thin. She knows what makes him tick, reads him like the open, monochromatic book he is. So, if she reads him now, she knows Steve is not shitting her. Imagine that – Captain America and of all people, the _Widow_? Maybe Tony's stupid machine did something else, too. Maybe it altered the whole darn reality. This cannot be real.

"So," she licks her lips slowly. "What do you want to hear from me?"

"I don't think I want to play wait-and-see anymore, Tony."

"So… you want to tell her the truth? She'll be shocked."

Steve raises a brow. "She will?"

"You haven't been obvious enough, buddy. She's not a mind-reader –"

"Don't let her hear you say that."

She smirks. "I mean, sometimes, it's best to go all out, you know what I mean? Let her know you're interested. See if something good comes out of it."

"I'm asking you this tonight because I think it's not one-sided. I want to be sure if my next decision is just and fair for the team –"

"Wait, back up a sec," and she folds her forearms atop the table. " _How_ did you know she's interested?"

"I'd rather keep that between the both of us."

"… Sure." But since she has been completely unaware of this new turn of event, that must mean, "Stark."

"Excuse me?"

"Uh… the gym, right? Something happened at the gym?"

Steve doesn't reply, and that's enough an answer for her. "That son of a bitch –"

"Is there something else going on between the both of you? I don't want to come in between –"

Don't tempt her to empty the rest of her stomach content in her tray, please. "Whoa, hey, and ew. No, Steve. Absolutely _not._ "

By the next minute, she loses her appetite completely while Steve gains his. He scarfs down his meal and drains his Coke, while Nat nurses her cooling coffee, not bothering to take a sip. Somehow, despite this weirdness of a situation, she doesn't feel like going back to the Tower so soon. It _is_ Friday night, and she has Steve all to herself for one evening. Seems like a waste to return him so early.

"Steve, you want to check out this fun fair down the river?"

Steve does take her to the fun fair, and he watches her curiously as she loses herself in all the unexpected attention _children_ are paying her. They ask for photographs, signatures, doodles, hugs – _everything._ And she basks in them, at the look of adoration reflected on their babyfaces. Once or twice she looks over her shoulder wondering if Steve wants to join in the fun, but he always stands some distance away and shakes his head, a polite "no". She doesn't let their screaming for "Iron Man!" take away the enjoyment.

Being Tony Stark _can_ be fun.

"Steve, come here!" Her cheeks ache with too much grinning. It's been _ages._ But she can do happy, if just for tonight. She's whoever she needs to be. "Let's go shoot some cans."

The grand prize is a brown, fluffy teddy bear almost half her size. Looks incredibly cuddly. She pulls out her wallet from her back pocket and points at a toy rifle. "How much for a round?"

"You get ten shots for a round. That's three dollars," the stall owner rumbles on without even taking a look at them. Steve is as restless as Natasha is excited, and she fishes out a bill –

Tony's wallet has no cash.

"Uh…" she closes the wallet and slips it back into her pocket. What kind of billionaire goes around with an _empty_ wallet? "Sorry, maybe next –"

"Three dollars, here you go, Sir," and Steve places his money on the bench. He unhooks the rifle that's mounted onto the pillar next to him, and hands it over to Natasha. "This should be fun," the edge of his lips tweaks a bit.

Belatedly again, she realises that for all the genius that is Tony Stark, man is simply pathetic at aiming. Steve folds his arms across his chest and stands steadfastly behind her, and déjà vu, this feels just like one of those performance appraisals, physical tests that Steve routinely puts the Avengers through.

She _can_ try to fake uselessness… but Steve's put down his three dollars, and she kind of really wants that teddy bear…

Ten shots later – and ten empty cans lying on the dusty floor – the stall owner presents her the prize. She takes it and beams, fingers already caressing the soft belly of her bear. She says to the scowling man, "By the way, that's not very nice of you to intentionally modify the butt plate and muzzle. Screws up the balance –"

"Sorry about that, Sir," Steve's arm darts between them, large fist squeezing the stuffing out of the teddy bear by its neck. "We're returning this," and he hooks his free hand under Natasha's biceps. "Let's go."

"Wait a damn minute!" They stumble away from the carnival, the lights and the sounds. "I won that fair and square!"

"Fair and square?" Then, Steve starts _frisking_ her from the ears, to the neck, armpits, waist –

"OK, don't think I won't scream, Steve –"

"Is JARVIS here? Because asking him to calibrate your aiming isn't fair, Tony."

" _What?_ Steve, nuh-uh, not there –"

"… What is this?"

Then, she stops struggling against Steve as he pulls out butterfly knives after butterfly knives, a modest sidearm and a couple others… and drops them all to the ground. They're literally standing in a ring of firearms, and it makes them look like they're about to deal some.

"What is _wrong_ with you? Where's the suit? Why are you so… heavily _armed_?"

"… It's called precaution? I figured I'll try old-school this time."

Steve holds his hands up, surrendering to the fact that this is, indeed, peculiar. "I need a drink."

"You can't get drunk," she grumbles. Plus, she can't drink either, not in Tony's body. There are lines even she won't cross. "Hey, want to go on the Ferris wheel?"


	7. Chapter 7

They were told one full cycle takes roughly fifteen minutes. Long enough to be fun, short enough before it gets awkward. Natasha props her chin on the heel of her palm and gazes out into the night line, and casually mentions how she can see the Tower from here. Once, the whole ride stops for a good five minutes, and she's starting to wonder if the engine has malfunctioned.

"A mother of five wants to fit all of them into one carriage, but the operator won't let her."

"… And you know that, how?"

Steve shrugs, "I can hear them from here."

Well, she can't, but she's not a super-soldier, is she?

"Fantastic. Remind me not to sing in the shower after team practice."

And Steve looks up from his lap. "You don't. Only Clint and Nat do."

Crap. "It's just a figure of speech, Cap," she replies smoothly. "Chillax."

Then, their ride resumes, and they go higher and higher, until she can hear the wind blowing in her ears. Their carriage is open-aired, so though she _sees_ Steve's lips moving, the words don't reach her, and she cups her ears.

"I said," Steve gets a little shouty, "I might have to choose between the Avengers and my personal feelings."

"What? _Why_?" She's shouting, too, out of shock than anything else.

"I'm afraid I'm compromised, Tony. I doubt I can treat and command her the way I do to the rest of you. I'm afraid I'll let my… feelings, overcome my judgement when it comes to making the tough call in battles. And you know how often that tends to happen. And that sort of protectiveness is… it's not right, not between a commander and his subordinate."

"You're overthinking this, Steve. But one thing I know for sure, you're _not_ quitting the Avengers. I won't let you."

"I trust the team will be in good hands. In yours."

"OK, first off, if you let me lead the team, they'll be hurling pancakes at my head the second I turn around. And two, what the hell, Steve? This isn't up to you –"

"It's _really_ up to me –"

"No, Steve, we _need_ you. There won't be the Avengers without Captain America –"

"The team is cohesive, everyone's familiar with –"

"Fine, then _I_ quit."

Their carriage sways as the ride jerks to one of those stops to let more people in or out on ground level. They glare at each other from opposite sides of the carriage, butts adamantly glued to their seats because their weights are the only things keeping the carriage balanced. The sound of her own exclamation rings in her ears. _I quit?_

"I mean… I quit, as a sign of protest. Look, you aren't even sure if she wants to take this to the next level." She hesitates a bit, and looks out to the river once more. "What if she says no?"

The Avengers needSteve Rogers. They country needs Steve Rogers. Who is she to deprive them of Steve's services? If he thinks he can't compartmentalise his feelings for her, if this means one of them has to leave, then better her than him. This is not even up for debate.

But more importantly, she's never thought about Steve like that. It's impossible, nothing fruitful will come out of it, so why waste time on mere fantasies? So, sometimes she'll bat her lashes at him, sidle up his side and flirt a little, because that's what she does, all right? That's in her blood, her DNA – it's ingrained into her being. So is killing and manipulating and all the stuff of nightmare that Steve dedicate his life to extinguishing from the face of this good earth. She just happens to be fighting on his side this time, so that makes her good, and she loves it. For once, her life counts for something, and sleeping has never felt so good.

She owes it all to Steve. Maybe, in her eternal gratitude, something else too, has blossomed. She finds the bass in his voice comforting, the strength of his grip assuring. She yearns for his company, not consciously at least, but who doesn't? And what is she supposed to make of this information, that America's favourite son is having a thing for her?

She blames Tony's stupid machine for making this so much more confusing that it already is.

"Sorry, I'm still trying to wrap my head around this," she waves her hand enthusiastically, and the carriage sways some more. "Why Nat?"

"… I don't know. She's cold and calculating on the frontline. Merciless. Effective. She's stubborn to a fault, defies direct order that one time so she could save three more hostages your radar fail to detect after it got hit by EM. Always risking herself, doesn't care if I have an opinion about that. She likes to sing these Russian songs that always sound so sad. She's terrible at making coffee, always too sweet or too bitter. Rude, too. Cusses like nobody's business."

"OK, she has a laundry list of character flaws. We all know, thank you."

Steve looks horrified for a fleeting second, and seems to only realise the meaning of his description. And then suddenly, he chuckles a bit, and says, "Yeah? Well. I find them endearing. Weird, huh?"

"You must be a closet masochist or something," she shakes her head. He smiles some more, but doesn't say anything. "Right. I'm too sober for this shit."


	8. Chapter 8

After going on almost every ride at the fun fair –

OK, no, not really. The evening has been ruined, but it's nobody's fault. Steve doesn't speak much after they got off the Ferris wheel. He broods, hands deep in his pockets as Natasha prances around, looking for more rides to have a go at. It's fairly obvious that Steve much prefers to slink back to his bachelor pad and mull over things a bit, but she's more or less _mandated_ to keep Steve out of the Tower for as long as she can. Her cell phone doesn't buzz the whole time she's been out, so that must mean Tony is still busting ass over the machine. Since Steve doesn't want to go on rides anymore, _she_ goes alone on the spinning tea cup, the carousel, and even walks through the haunted house. That turns out to be a mistake because barely two minutes into it, security is already hauling her out.

"Sorry, Sir," Steve apologises profusely on her behalf, "I'll keep an eye out on him. He's uh, not himself this evening."

With narrowed eyes, the burly bouncer asks, "You're Rogers, aren't you? Captain America?"

"… I wish," Steve starts scratching his chin, and fake-laughs at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. "I'll be winning big on the high striker if I were."

"Right. You best leave the premise pronto. We're not pressing charges."

"Thank you, Sir."

Steve spares her a stern look, and sighs. "We're going home, Tony."

"… I'm sorry, Steve, look –"

"It's fine. You don't have to explain."

Serve the zombie right for trying to get fresh with her though. She _might_ have underestimated Tony's physical strength so she threw her punch like she normally would, and felt the zombie's nose crumple under her knuckles. That was thoroughly unpleasant. Her phone is still resolutely still and she desperately thinks of ways to distract Steve. Her own heart is leaping in her throat, and she herself is torn between spending more time in Steve's personal space, or faceplanting repeatedly against a stack of pillows. As if that's not tormenting enough, Tony's body is reacting bizarrely to her repressed desires, and she's infinitely glad that the cloak of night is hiding the tent in her pants from clear view, because _this_ is _wildly inappropriate._ Before she knows it, they're back at the Tower's foyer, and Steve bids her a solemn goodbye.

"Hey, wait, do you want to uh, want to hit the gym together?"

Steve never says no to that.

"Nah, not tonight, Tony." He smiles wanly, and gives her a half-wave. "I'll see you around. Good night."

When the elevator door closes on Steve, she wastes no time in making a mad dash to the basement lab on foot. She slams the door open that more plaster falls from the ceiling, and Tony's head pops up like a gopher from under the control panel, and she feels an urge to wham it down with a mallet. Tony spits screws from his mouth and chucks the screwdriver he's holding towards a pile of wires and asks, "Why are you here?"

"Is it fixed?"

" _No!_ Go back upstairs! Where's Steve?"

"In his room?"

"No, no – you can't let him! He'll notice the shield is gone and he'll call for an Assemble, or he'll be cranky at breakfast tomorrow –"

"I really think I've stretched my luck with him. I need to cool off."

And Tony looks up at her shrewdly. "Huh. What happened?"

"Nice try, Stark. What happened between me and Rogers, is between me and Rogers."

"Touché. Well, _I'm_ not going to babysit him, and I'm so close to getting this up and running, so that leaves _you_ –"

"I can't!"

"Seriously! I'm not asking you to tuck the Hulk into bed! Offer to help him out with something. Like with his hobby – oh, how about you volunteer to model for Steve in the nude _,_ huh? I don't mind you objectify my gorgeous body like that, just do whatever you need to do to keep him from looking for his shield."

"Nope. If you value your life, you'll want to stay away from him for the next sixteen hours."

"Christ, what did you do to him?"

"Nothing! What am I supposed to do when he… when he…" but Tony is still ogling at her expectantly, and there is no way in hell and heaven and earth that she'll tell Tony what really happened –

"Did he ask you out? Like, finally," he rolls his eyes a little. It's Natasha's turn to pick her lower jaw up from the floor. "I mean, not asking you out while you're wearing my face. Let's not go there. Let me guess. He asked me about the consequences of dating you. Why that look of surprise?"

"… How long have you known?"

"For a while?" Tony collects his screwdriver and twirls it between his nimble fingers. "OK, here's the thing. I don't want you to take this in any way, shape or form badly, but I already had this conversation. With Steve. In my head. It's a problem, you're right. I knew you were going to say that to me and I knew what I would say in response. Take it from the expert. _I know_." He goes back to screwing in a metal plate onto the back of the control panel. "I see conversations coming down the street. It's just how my mind works. It's really hard for human interactions to surprise me. In fact, I was banking on it. I was hoping he would go soft on me because I look like you, yeah?"

She scoffs openly at the idea of Steve Rogers pulling his punches because his opponent has boobs. "Bet it worked well."

"He was really into the smooch though –"

"The _what?_ "

"… Uh, the what?"

Remember what she told Tony the first time he ever hinted at doing anything weird while occupying her body? She is more than happy to go through with her threat, so she grabs another screwdriver that Tony has left lying on the workbench and she points the sharp end towards her crotch – Tony's screaming and begging for mercy –

The door swings open again.

"Have any of you seen my shield?"

More plaster snows on three of them. Steve blinks at the scene before him, and flinches at the sight of Tony trying to stab his nuts with a screwdriver. Steve's own knees might have trembled a bit. "What the hell is going on?" Then only he carefully takes stock of his surrounding, noticing for the first time how wrecked it looks. "What happened here? Looks like the end of the world!" He takes two steps forward, and his blue eyes blow wide open at the sight of his shield, lying on the floor with multiple crocodile clips attached to its edge. "Huh."

"Steve, hey!" Natasha swings her arm over his broad shoulders. "Uh, it's really kind of messy and dangerous to be walking around here, so –"

"Yeah, I'll be on my way after I get my shield back –"

"Uh, nope, can't let you do that, Cap," she quickly puts herself between Steve and Tony, one arm stretched out to warn Steve to back the hell off. "Hey, do you feel like drawing? I don't mind modelling in the nude for you –"

"I just want my shield back –"

"Just let me borrow this for five minutes, huh? Five freaking minutes, and I'll personally send it back to your room – hey!" Steve easily manoeuvres himself around her frame and strides towards the control panel, obviously wearing a mood as foul as his scowl, when he suddenly stops dead in his track.

"Nat?"

"Sorry, Steve," the static from the repulsor roars in their vicinity. Steve's face reflects the bluish glow emanating from the Iron Man's gauntlet already poised on him. "Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures. Five minutes, please."


	9. Chapter 9

"It's not powered enough to be lethal, but it's not gonna tickle as well," Tony smirks at Steve, who understandably is looking more and more upset as the second passes. Tony's mouth dries up a little. That will be his famous last words, already he feels it in his fingers and toes. "Steve, I beg you. Fifteen minutes. This is life and death we're talking about –"

"You're not really her, are you? What have you done to Natasha? How are you able to control the armour?" See? He told _her_ Steve would've figured this out on his own given enough time. Then, Steve moves – a blur, too fast – and the next thing he knows, Steve's pinning Natasha to the tank. He snarls in her face, "Where's Tony? I'm not gonna ask twice."

"Steve! Christ, are you _nuts_ – whoa –" Suddenly, he has a gun trained at his face. Steve has somehow pulled out the sidearm that Natasha carries around her waist – must be hers, because he never does, and who needs guns when he has a collapsible Iron Man gauntlet disguised as his watch? "Don't shoot!" He glances at Natasha, who's starting to make wheezing sounds as Steve clenches down on her pipes. This isn't funny anymore. "The truth, yeah? I'm Tony. In Nat's body. She's in mine. So, that," he bends the index finger of his gauntlet, "is really her."

Steve's eyes narrowed, and seems to give himself a split second to see if that admission makes the slightest of sense… then, he uncocks the safety on his gun.

"Whoa! No, no – wait, Steve – you, uh, December twenty-fifth, six years ago or something, you were out fondueing with Agent Thirteen, and I uh, against my better judgement brought up her relationship with Peggy, so you exchanged all the sugar in the kitchen for salt."

Please let that work, this is such a _stupid_ way to die.

Steve lowers his hand, and Tony feels like he just lost ten years of his lifespan. "Thank you."

"For the record, that sugar to salt prank was Clint's. And that was a low blow, Tony."

He nods furiously. "Right-o, Cap."

"… Dying here?" Natasha scratches weakly over Steve's knuckles.

"Jesus Christ, Nat, I'm so sorry –"

She drops like an anchor the moment Steve peels back from her, and he catches her around her midriff above Tony's roar, "Watch the damn machine!" She coughs wetly as Steve does his usual thing, hovering, but not quite touching. Obviously concerned, but not saying a thing. Tony shakes his head and starts punching numbers in sequence on his control panel. "I'm getting diabetes just watching you people. It's a bit creepy, because that's my body you're ogling, Steve."

"Sorry."

"Eh, I take compliments of all kinds. Doing all right there, Nat?"

"… Peachy."

With the flat side of his fist, he slams on a big, red button, and the whole room whirs to life. Natasha crawls away from the tank she's leaning against as it too rumbles into action. Weird lights bathe their vicinity in psychedelic shades, and Steve frowns at the ceiling. "You sure this is gonna work?"

"Well," Tony shouts from where he's from, "remind me to _never_ let you watch 'The Fly'. There's enough knots in your panties as it is." The pressure gauges look good, pipes are all cleared, so are the other three-hundred-and-sixty-one modular components affixed to the setup that are still miraculously intact. Not jinxing it! "Steve, stand back!" He makes sure the shield is still firmly attached to the cables connecting the first tank to the second. "Get back! If this doesn't work, I don't want to add _you_ into the mixture and make this a three-way switcheroo, you hear?"

"I can help!" Steve shouts back. It's like a cyclone is building up in the space. "Tell me what to do!"

"… Get on your knees and pray!"

Tony nods once at Nat, and she pulls herself up into the tank. He shuffles over to the opposite corner of the lab, and steps into his own. Steve looks like he's soiled his pants. And all he can think of as the machine counts down to activation is how he could rock a woman's form and still be Tony Stark. How would he explain this… body swap to the world? Is he going to assume his Stark persona with a _minor cosmetic dissonance_ , and hope his board of director won't sweat it the next time he walks in wearing pumps and lipstick? He'll have to recalibrate all his Iron Man – Woman? – suits and armoury to suit his petite physique. And what the heck is he going to do with Pepper, now that they both belong on the same team?

Then, everything quiets down, and he dares to open his eyes. It's too dark in the chamber to make sense of anything, and there's a huge lump in his throat that makes breathing and speaking difficult. He fumbles around for the catch and pulls, and the door swings open and he spills out of the chamber –

"Hey," a pair of strong arms catch him by his shoulders. He looks up, and sees Steve's blue eyes bore into his. "… Nat?"

He groans, and doesn't sound like he's on helium anymore. "Whoa."

"Tony?"

"Yeah – ow!" Did Steve just "Tsk" him and manhandle him to someplace presumably safer, and take off to the other corner of the lab? That's rude, Cap. Rude. And he's all bruised and sullied and cranky –

Steve and Natasha sure are mighty quiet after everything that has just happened. Not even a dreary "Yay"? No? Nothing? Tony steals a quick look at their corner, and sees Steve's back hunched over her – whom he's cradling in his lap – their faces awfully close to each other's.

Well, that kind of celebration is fine too, he guesses.

And just to make sure the entire procedure went swimmingly, he sticks a hand between his thighs and gropes.

"… Yay," he sighs, and leans back against the control panel to catch his breath.

Saturday morning in the Tower is usually quiet because everybody will be out to carpe the diem, to pursue their own whatever in their own time. Tony divides his equally between Malibu and Manhattan lately, but today he's dedicated the rest of the weekend on damage control and clean-up duties, because his lab looks like it just got out of a blender. But first, more coffee!

He brisk walks into the kitchen area and hears low voices talking. Not one for eavesdropping, he approaches the entryway on tiptoes and tries not to walk in like it was an avant-garde fashion runway. There's only two Avengers occupying the kitchen island, each having cereal bowls in front of them. Steve looks up from his breakfast first, and acknowledges Tony with an easy smile, while obviously still speaking to Natasha, rapt with attention right next to him. Tony wrinkles his nose a bit and ignores them, and goes to his corner of the kitchen counter which is mercifully, also the closest to where he is standing. And surprise, surprise, there's a full pot of freshly brewed Arabica, and all his mugs have been washed, dried, and neatly stacked with the ears facing out at forty-five degrees to the right. He turns back to the lovebirds and sees the edge of Natasha's lips curving upwards. Her green eyes flit to Tony as she listens on to Steve talking, and her smirk grows.

He decides to have his coffee black because the beans have no doubt been marinated enough in oozing sweetness after all the time Steve and Nat sat in the kitchen. Leaving them to their own mischief, he next wonders if Steve would allow him to re-programme House Party Protocol to help with the spring cleaning.


End file.
